


The Remorse and Romance of Alessandra Tyrell

by worthy_of_the_shield



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon Compliant, Canon Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Consensual Underage Sex, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Making it up As I Go Along, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, but it felt more natural while writing, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 06:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19057108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worthy_of_the_shield/pseuds/worthy_of_the_shield
Summary: Alessandra Tyrell- younger sister to Maegery and Loras Tyrell, ward of House Stark and heir to absolutely nothing at all. After spending half her life as Lord Stark's ward, while fondly remembering a childhood spent in Highgarden, Alessa has only known safety and love... until a visit from the king and a letter from her sister changes everything.Suddenly, the people she love are dying, fighting or playing a game with no rules, and she questions whether or not she can truly trust anyone- even those she has known all her life.~~~I think the problem was I loved too many people, and I wasn’t very good at prioritising. I couldn’t protect them all, and I always knew I would one day have to choose. But this was different—this came before everything and everyone before. The one thing I knew I would let the world burn for to keep safe.





	The Remorse and Romance of Alessandra Tyrell

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, then first of all thank you for clicking. I hope I can keep you entertained enough to keep you reading. Secondly, I am pretty awful at keeping up to date on posting chapters, and most of my fics are discontinued. BUT, I alreayd have a large chunk of this one done and a loose idea on where it's going... so let's keep our fingers crossed that I can be more reliable on my fourth time out.
> 
> This is mostly going to follow canon events, with my own character added in, but I'll likely play around with the ending. It's also following TV canon and not the books, because I haven't finished the books and I feel like more people are caught up on the show. 
> 
> This might end up being a series, depending on how long it gets, and I'm planning on updating the tags as I go. This is going to be a long one.

Love is a strange thing. I’ve always been puzzled by the concept, perhaps due to my family’s general dismissal of it. Well, Margaery’s dismissal, in any case. Love was of no importance when the game for power is afoot, except for when she was using love and lust to manipulate those around her. I’ve always envied my sister in this, the easy way she moulded herself in people’s lives, their hearts, while keeping her own soul secure. To me she was the most intelligent person in Westeros. And Margaery knew it. 

I loved my sister, and I adored my brother, that much I know without question, even at a young age, with distant parents and an acute sense for the practical. But I suppose I never really knew them, like I should have known them. It’s not my fault, I grew up in a different fucking kingdom to them after all, got to claim a different family as entirely my own. I was eight when I left Highgarden, travelled for six uncomfortable weeks to the coldest city in Westeros, leaving behind everything and everyone I had ever known. I was supposed to be a gift, an offering of peace, a promise of commitment to the Baratheons after the Tyrell’s allied with the Mad King. Instead of going to King’s Landing, however, I was hauled to the North, as it seemed the King and Queen wanted very little to do with another child to watch for. The Starks were much more accommodating. Traditionally, boys were supposed to be the ones sent to the other families as a show of commitment, of giving up a potential heir and warrior for the strength of an alliance. But Loras was my family’s only male heir, and Margaery was my mother’s favourite. I was of a similar age to the other Stark children at the time, Robb and the bastard Jon, and was an accurate shot with a bow, so off I was sent. 

I remember my last goodbyes with my brother and sister, who were a few years older than me. I remember Margaery’s warm hug and her whispered advice. “You are indispensable; show them that.”

Loras ruffled my hair, fair like his, but without his curls. “I expect many ravens, Lady. I wish to here all about the wild ways of the North. Try not to get eaten by a wolf.”

“He’s teasing,” Margaery was quick to assure me, always armed with a smile, but there was no need. I had already learnt not to take my brother’s jibes so seriously. “I’ve heard the North is beautiful and Eddard Stark is a good man. You’ll be treated well; make sure of it.”

“I will,” I said in reply, squeezing her fingers one last time. “I’ll miss you.”

“We’ll miss you too, Lady,” she said calmly, but her voice sounded unnaturally thick, and she averted her gaze. 

“You’ve got a long journey ahead of you,” Loras told me, holding the door of the wheelhouse open for me. “Better not drink anything, lest you piss yourself before you get there.”

Margaery rolled her large eyes, but waved me off with a warm smile. My parents didn’t bother to say good bye. They had their strong knight and fair maiden. 

It was a little over six weeks, by the time my company and I arrived at Winterfell. The time had been lonely, with only the coach drivers, grooms and various guards for company, and I spent most of my time reading about Winterfell, it’s culture, practices and history. When we stopped, I explored, climbing trees and swimming in pools, until it felt too cold to take my gown off. After we crossed the border, I draped a fur cloak over my shoulders, and wore breeches and high boots under my skirts. Soon, I stopped bothering with the skirts; they just got in the way—and I was young enough to get away with less than formal dress. The Starks don’t seem to care anyway.

For a childhood, my life significantly improved meeting the Starks. Winterfell, while cold, at least had warmth between it’s walls and in the hearts of it’s rulers. The Lord and Lady treated me with as much dignity and kindness as they afforded their own children. More so, they were actually present in their children’s lives, to guide and teach and love them. Their was no condition or role that must be fulfilled in order to gain their parent’s love. Jon was the exception, I suppose, as Lady Catelyn seemed to waver between treating him with ignorance or contempt. Still, I tried my best to make him feel just as included as I was, but he seemed reluctant to allow himself to enjoy our time together, like he was punishing himself for an unspecified crime. Theon was a different story. Less a ward and more a hostage, if anyone should be made to feel out of place, it should have been him. But he adapted quicker than anyone, his prideful, arrogant ways making him a complete bastard in some ways, but ridiculously fun in others. 

I was older than both the Stark girls, and Margaery had already taught me how to be quick and delicate with a needle, so I was excused from lessons with them mostly, and instead spent my time clashing sticks with Theon and Robb in the courtyard, exploring the area, catching frogs and climbing trees. It didn’t take long for Theon to stop jeering about me being a girl, and start searching me out when he’d found something particularly disgusting in the backyard. 

When I was eleven, we once spent a night outdoors, the residents of the castle distracted by the birth of Robb’s new brother. It may have been colder in the North, but it was still summers, and we tied our horses to nearby trees and slept in a cave sheltered from the biting wind. We hadn’t meant to spend the night, we had simply ridden out further and later than expected, playing for hours, and gorging ourselves on berries we found. I even managed to start a fire, and we cooked the three fish we had each caught playing in the nearby river. They were disgusting, but sated our appetites somewhat, and it wasn’t until it started to get dark that it occurred to us how long we had been out without an escort. But it didn’t seem to occur to us to be worried in any way.

“Let’s stay out tonight,” I suggested, the thrill of the idea shivering down my spine.

“My father will notice our absence soon.” Robb was always the somewhat sensible one of us, but Theon and I were experts in talking him round by this point. 

“He’s too worried about your mother and the sprog,” Theon interjected. The cave entrance was partly blocked by a fallen tree, and we were sat against it now, looking at the stars through the trees. “We’ll ride back at sunrise, no one will even know we were gone.”

Robb quickly came around and we climbed over the trunk and into the cave, curling up together like wolf cubs to share warmth. Apparently we hadn’t ridden as far out as we thought, as we were found the next morning after a search party had been sent out. Finding us as they did, my face nuzzled into Robb’s shoulder and Theon’s arm tucked over my waist must have alarmed them somewhat as we were dragged to our feet before we could properly wake up and being escorted back to Winterfell in what seemed like a panicked over reaction. 

After the questions of “are you all right?”, “where were you?” and “what were you thinking?” were cleared up, Catelyn steered me away from the boys to have a talk with me. It seemed I had been taking my freedom as a ward for granted all this time, as she seemed more concerned with my sex than she ever had before. I was a woman, I was getting older now, I could not afford to pull they kind of games anymore. I tried to protest that we hadn’t meant to stay out so late, but she waved my words away.

“It is not the staying out that is my concern. My dear, you will stay a girl forever. You are growing into a woman, and it does not reflect well for you to be spending your nights with boys.” It was only then that I really knew what she was trying to tell me. But was it my virtue she was worried about, or Robb’s? “Do you know about the blood cycle?”

I nodded. “It’s when a woman bleeds between the legs once a moon cycle, as proof of her fertility.” She seemed impressed that I knew that much, but mostly I had heard Margaery complaining about the aches that came with it. “I haven’t had mine yet.”

“Well, when you do, come to me so I can help you, OK?”

I nodded again, and she let me go. I prayed that night that she would not ask anything of Robb and Theon, to stay away from me and let mature into my womanhood or something equally as bullshit. I never knew for certain, but there did seem to be a change. I was dragged into more sewing and penmanship and etiquette lessons, while I watched from the window as the boys fought with wooden swords. I started wearing gowns again, and even got to know Sansa better. She was a sweet thing, if a little vain, but most young girls are. She reminded me a little of Margaery, just more naïve and less cunning. She would be just as beautiful one day though. Lords should have been on their knees to marry her. If only she had been treated with the respect she deserved Even at such a young age I could tell Arya was different. A wild spirit, who would not bend to social circumstance or practices. She would do all she could to forge her own past. In the end, I believe she did too much. More than she should have had to. 

I didn’t noticing the boy’s voices changing until it had already happened. I just looked up one day and realised that there was an explanation for there recent coughing and attempts to mask their voices. They had deepened in a way that didn’t suit their boyish faces. But a few months later and even that was wrong, as hard muscle replaced soft curves, and they started to become men. 

Once, I was twelve by this point I believe, I was walking through the courtyard to the stables, planning on taking a hack alone for the afternoon. Robb and Theon were practising archery, and even Jon was with them. It seemed my exclusion from ‘men’s’ activities had brought them closer. I didn’t mind, I was happy for Jon. We had never tried to exclude him, I just gave up asking if he wanted to join in after a few repeated declines. If he wanted to spend his days persistently sulky than would be his problem. 

“Wait a moment,” Theon called out to me. “By the drowned god, what has happened to your hair?”

I stopped and flushed. I had allowed my fair hair to grow longer than it ever had for the past year, so where it was once touching my shoulders, it had now grown down to chest. I had been allowing Sansa to braid it for me, to get practiced at it, as it was more difficult for her to do on her own hair. I never minded, hoping I could provide her some insight like Margaery had always provided to me. Today’s style was particularly intricate—she had been trying to replicate some of the braids seen down in the south (I regretted telling her so much about it). 

“Let me guess,” said Robb. “Sansa?”

I grinned. “She enjoys it, there’s no harm.”

“You look like a lady,” Jon pointed out.

This made me laugh. “My brother and sister used to called me Lady. It was a joke though, as it was obvious I was the least ladylike of any of us. And that includes my brother.”

They chortled, and strode toward me. It struck me then, just how much I missed them, which was ridiculous as I saw them everyday of my life, and had for years now. “I’m going for a ride, if you want to come.”

“Ahh, if only we could, but we were about to practice our swordplay,” said Theon.

“Play’s the right word. Are you still using wooden sticks?”

Robb and Jon both snorted, while Theon raised his eyebrows. “That a challenge, Tyrell?”

I hummed and tilted my head, considering it. “What’s the prize, Robb’s hand in marriage?”

Now the noise Robb made was more affronted, and a similar noise came from Jon when Theon came back with, “What does the loser get, Jon’s?”

“You’re insulting us more than each other!” Jon called out.

“If it’s anyone’s hand we are fighting for, it should be yours.” It took me a second to realise Robb was talking to me. Silence fell over us, as the full meaning of what Catelyn had said washed over me. Robb had spoken softly, sounding completely serious and more grown-up than ever before. He meant it. There was a possibility of me marrying one of these boys one day, of me bearing children for them, of truly becoming a lady of House Stark or Greyjoy. I was a woman, and they were men, and we couldn’t pretend for much longer that this didn’t mark a difference between us. And I cursed my body for agreeing with this, as Robb continued to stare at me and I felt a blush rise on my cheeks. I would always be the fought for and never the fighter. 

Theon broke the tension as he always did. “I’d rather marry the bastard, thanks.”

I was starting to see why Jon was apprehensive about hanging around with us. I elbowed Theon hard in the ribs, causing him to lose grip on his bow, which I swiped from him. In a few seconds I had notched an arrow and let it fly, hitting the dead centre of the target. 

“If you are going to fight for my hand,” I said, “it will have to be with something more impressive than wooden sticks. Make an effort, at least.”

“To the death then,” Theon said, looking thrilled. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was thrilled, not because of the prospect of fighting to the death one day, but because I had proven that things weren’t going to change between us. Despite my distance, and my skirts and my braids and my etiquette, or their breeches and their deeper tones and their swordplay, our friendship wasn’t going anywhere. I guess that was always the thing with Theon. He was constantly trying to prove himself to someone, to Robb, to me, to Eddard Stark, to his ironborn family. Perhaps that was why he constantly rode Jon on his status, he had to prove he was better than someone around here. I always thought our relationship with the Starks more than proved that nobody thought of him as just the Greyjoy hostage, but, apparently, it didn’t. 

I ended joining in on their swordplay, it made more sense with four of us. They were surprised how good at it I still was, after months of neglecting the practice. Loras had taught me everything he knew before I left Highgarden, so I suppose I had an advantage. I wasn’t going to tell them that though. 

When I was thirteen, I got my blood, along with the deep aches that came with it. I spent hours curled up, resting a hand on my stomach, bathing in the clenching pain. Catelyn came to me at one point, and coaxed me out of bed, promising the pains would lesson if I remained active. It seemed impossible, and I spent an hour pushing food around on my plate, unable to eat. After some time, the pain did seem to dwindle, at least to the point where I could push through it. I changed the rags in my unclothes a few times throughout the day, and repeated for the next three days. Some woman got their blood regularly or on a pattern. I was not one of these woman. I once went three months without my blood, and I nearly forgot about it, until I spent a night doubled over in pain with no idea why until I saw the blood on the sheets the next morning. I would have it for a day, then a week. Never consistent, with no way to predict it coming, except for the pain the day before.

When I was fourteen, I was attacked. Theon, Robb and I were out for a ride, one of the few (and unfortunately last) times we were allowed out alone, just the three of us. Winterfell is not known for its danger in bandits and thieves. They were wildlings, I think. I was young and it went by so fast. But there were six of them, and they took and interest in our expensive clothes and saddles. The men took a particular interest in me.

“I am Robb Stark, son of the Lord of Winterfell. Leave us now, before anyone gets hurt.” I loved Robb, more than anything at times, and his optimism, his hope, his goodness was one of the reasons for that. But he wasn’t being realistic. Wildlings did not care for titles or threats. They saw what they wanted and they took it.

I’m given a split second warning, as I notice him coming from the corner of my eye. It’s useless though, as my feet are still hooked in the stirrups of my saddle, and any chance I had to kick out was dashed when the wildling grabs me by the waist and yanks me off my horse. My reflexes are quick though, and I jab him in the nose with my elbow before he can seize my arms. I hear a scuffle, probably the boys stuck between staying on the horses for better leverage and getting off to have more movement. The man who has me lets out a yelp of pain, and I’m hoping I broke his nose, but he still has me in his arms. Another man slaps me, looming in front of me, and the sudden stings blinds me for a moment, before I feel hands on my legs. I come back to myself and kick out, moving wildly in an attempt to get free, but he soon has my feet and is spreading my legs open. My hands are still free though, and I use the opportunity to tuck one hand under my skirts and pull out the small knife tied tight to my bare thigh. I keep my hand on it, my angle is no good here, with one man behind me and another in front. Each second drags, as I wait for him to get closer, barely aware of the boys taking on the four other men with only their daggers. We still weren’t allowed to carry steel swords. 

Finally the man gets himself between my legs, his friend still gripping me tightly from behind. Hold it. 

“Tell me darling. Do you have a fancy title?”

I swallow. Hold it. His hands are so close to mine, to where I’m hiding the knife.

“How old are you? Have you had a man yet?” I’m disgusted when I find my eyes tearing up, fear overtaking all my grit, my roughness, my wit. I have no reply, no comment, nothing to say to stop him from spoiling me right here, right now. I’m frozen in place, all struggle leaving my bones, and I just shake in absolute terror. It’s not until I feel the wet of his tongue on my neck and something hard and warm touch my core that a shock jolts me back to myself.

Now. With all my strength I rip my hand from underneath my skirts and lunge forward, pulling the man against me and driving my knife into his back. Under his ribs, I’m hoping I’ve hit his kidney, before another jolt of energy runs through me and I’m wrenching my knife back. I get him again, on the other side, and feel him lurch against me, still brushing up against my core. I feel sick, as he coughs, blood running down my as he slumps. About two seconds has passed. 

His friend yowls, tugging me away and punching me. I feel my cheek split under his knuckles and the force pushes me over and the world tilts. I’m sprawled on my back, and have a second to realise Robb and Theon are still trying to deal with the tall, heavy men, before he’s on top of me. My knife is gone from my hand and I’m scrabbling around in the dirt for it, as the man, he must be at least thirty, perhaps forty, lowers himself, tongue between his teeth. My eyes are blurry, I’m crying again, but at least this time I’m not frozen in shock. I move and I thrash, but he’s exposed me to the cold northern air now, and his hips rolling himself against me. I have no control over the noises I’m making, the yelps and pleads and gasps. I fling an arm out, and before he can grab a hold of it, it connects with something metal on the ground—my knife. 

Hold it, the voice in my head growls again. I tense up, going still, making him put him guard down. He leans up, taking a hand off my wrist to undo his breeches and this time I don’t hesitate, slashing out in front of me, catching his throat straight across. He has a moment to make a noise of faint surprise, to choke, and there’s a gush of blood, hot and wet, gushing from his neck and onto my own, dripping down my chest, which I realise was also exposed at some point. He slumps over, too close to me for me to be comfortable. I heave myself up, still dazed, mind screaming at me. Two of the other men are dead, the boys daggers buried somewhere in their bodies. Robb appears to be winning his fight, but Theon is flagging, the man having a good foot of height on him, and when he doubles over after a punch in the stomach, I see the man ready a knife in his hand.

Pure instinctual rage courses through me, and I fly to my feet, stride over and plunge my knife deep into his neck. I leave it in this time, letting go as the man freezes. Blood bubbles out from around the knife, and the idiot pulls the blade out himself, the jet of blood hitting me in the cheek. He keels over, gurgling and choking.

Theon stares at me, the man dying at our feet, before he grabs my knife from his hand and helps Robb finish off the sixth man. A few more seconds drag out, and I collapse to my knees, trying to remember how to breathe.

“Lessa.” My gown has been completely torn down the front, to where even my skirts no longer cover my core. Robb wraps his own cloak around me. It’s large enough that it covers my exposed chest and I can hold it closed over my legs. 

I look down at myself. “It’s not my blood,” I assure them. It seems important. Robb and Theon, however, are covered in blood gushing from their noses, mouths and other tears in the skin. “You’re hurt.”

“We’re fine,” Robb says simply, putting a hand on my cheek and touching the spot where the wildling punched me. It’s throbbing, something feeling wrong with the bone underneath my skin. It’s bleeding steadily. 

“They’re… they’re dead.” I can’t form sentences right now. “We killed them.”  
I had never killed a man before, none of us had, outside of our playfights. But somehow, the three of us, barely grown, had taken on six men, twice our size… and won. They lay dead at our feet, they were no longer alive, because of us. Because of me.

“They were going to hurt us,” Robb was insisting. “They tried to kill us, Less.”

“Me. They were trying to hurt me.” They weren’t killers, or weren’t trying to be at least. They just wanted our stuff. Probably would left with their lives if I hadn’t been here. If I wasn’t a woman.

“This wasn’t your fault,” Robb kept on.

“They hurt you. Because of me.”

“Because of them. Men like that shouldn’t be allowed to live in this world. If it hadn’t been you now, it would have been someone else later.”

I was shaking, my body flushed with panicked energy, while the cold bit at my exposed skin. Robb took a step closer, gripping the front of my cloak with one hand and raising the other to my face. It wasn’t until his fingers were on my cheeks that I realised I was crying, my vision blurring rapidly. 

“It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

“You’re hurt,” I said again. The blood on his face was starting to clot, but there was still a steady trickled coming from his bottom lip.

“Just a scratch.” He pulled me closer, and I happily fold into his arms. We were all the same height back then, and I lay my head against his shoulder, looking straight at Theon. He was grim faced, cleaning my knife on his trousers.

He held it up between us. “Fat lot of use we were. You defended yourself better than we ever could.” He looked strangely fascinated, eyes locked on the blade, before offering it to me. I was still hugging Rob, but managed to free an arm to take the knife back from him.

“You’re strong,” Theon continued. “Stronger than them. Stronger than you know.”

There was something unsaid in his words, that I didn’t pick up on at the time. Stronger than us. Than me. But the tears couldn’t stop coming, and he used my free arm to pull us closer, wrapping himself into the hug. It felt good, and Robb let himself relax in our hold. I took the moment to regain control over my breathing, allow myself to feel safe with them, with their warmth against my body.

Robb eventually pulled away, but I could feel his reluctance in the fingertips touching my waist. His eyes were a little red, a little wet, but he looked away quickly, turning back to the horses, who haven’t actually wandered too far away. As he’s rallying them together, Theon tucked his fingers under my chin, keeping my at eye level with his. 

“Did they…?” He paused.

I shook my head quickly. “No, no, I stabbed them before they could…”

He nodded, looking relieved. “Good.” He glanced away for a second before leaning forward and pressing a kiss on my cheek.


End file.
